Any time that my dad calls me at 5:30am, that means someone died.

And as time goes on, we find out more and more about ourselves.  The depths that we never knew we had, the time we forget, and the additions of experiences that become more important than our memories.

Tranisitioning into adulthood is like.

A broken sentence.  You finish and complete a fragment and then must move on to the next order of business.

Home Sweet Home

Grief can be a sadness that brings all of your memories with that person and related to that person to mind. Riding that emotional roller coaster hasn't been the best experience, but has allowed me to see the reltionship and closeness that I still feel to my home in New Jersey.  It's a little too strong for my liking. When I left the first time, I always thought that I would never be back and the people that I knew that were outside of my family expected me not to.  So why did I?

I guess it was just a toxic attachment to my past.  There are some great people back in New Jersey.  Yet, when I go back I never stay in their positivity.  I always get pulled back to the strife.  How does one really break ties with where they are from?  To not lose the appreciation, but the pain.

For the last two days I have had a handful of gummy bears and coffee for breakfast.  I need to go grocery shopping before this becomes a habit.

I have also decided that watching episodes of Law and Order: SVU is now forbidden.  It triggers too much, but I want to be like the women on that show. Forever alone with a formidable career.

Ke$ha is now my only official family. #yeahthathappened

A letter for you. A letter for you.

Today I wish that I could write a letter to everyone I care deeply about.  Whenever I sit to write a letter I go through an initial uncomfortable phase.  Then I turn some sappy music on, put one ear bud in, and just start typing.  Nothing is in complete sentences.  Most times I don't even record the entire thought, but I go through one emotion at a time.  This is not to say that I am done with that emotion.  I explore it until it is finished then it flows into another emotion, maybe to pop its emotional strength back at a later time in the later.

That is what makes letter writing so raw for me.  It never captures everything and rarely even encompasses all I had to communicate.  Yet, the natural shift through emotions that I feel when I am writing and what comes out in the written product makes the process worthwhile. In the past I have started writing a letter being angry, and by the time I was finished feeling disappointment, or starting off sad and ending up thankful.

Written word forces you to think through and explore yourself. When words are written, I don't want them to be empty, so very few are disposable.

The rule of the week: I am not allowed to listen to anything but Ke$ha. Strictly confined.

Be Bold. Live Bold.

Writing stories into reality.

Making reality the best story that you could ever tell.

The nights you spend standing in the open sunroof of your friend's car. Arms out welcoming any energy floating around in the universe.

Monday through Thursday I spent in Tulsa, OK working on national policy. I trained on the NYTD survey, caught up with old friends, and explored the city in a new way. The trip was a fresh perspective on I place that I thought I knew. A fresh perspective on myself. Fresh, because it was new but revisiting and stood me in front of a mirror that I have never seen.

I've never been so emotionally free or untied to an expectation of connection.